


dim, olive green

by orphan_account



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa 3: The End of 希望ヶ峰学園 | The End of Kibougamine Gakuen | End of Hope's Peak High School, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Character Study, Dreams, Eye Injuries, Gen, Heterochromia, Hinata Hajime and Kamukura Izuru Are Merged, Hinata Hajime and Kamukura Izuru Share a Body Simultaneously, Human Experimentation, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Identity Issues, Internal Conflict, Introspection, Kamakura Izuru-centric, Kamukura Izuru Has Feelings, Kamukura Izuru is in Class 77, Nightmares, Pre-Despair (Dangan Ronpa), blood mentions later on, definitely not timeline compliant but we’re ignoring that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:14:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24520669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The first time Izuru sees him is in a dream.
Relationships: Class 77 & Kamukura Izuru, Hinata Hajime & Kamukura Izuru, Kamukura Izuru & Nanami Chiaki
Comments: 18
Kudos: 209





	dim, olive green

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote the entirety of this at like 2-3 am. plz excuse typos or incorrect tags

The first time Izuru sees him is in a dream. 

He doesn’t particularly remember falling asleep in class, but whatever Miss Yukizome is talking about is boring anyway. 

He’s sitting there, one hand supporting his head. It’s hard to tell he was sleeping if you’re not really looking. Izuru’s hair fell around him in thick blankets, hiding his eyes and the rest of his face. 

The chalkboard has something he already knows on it. Maybe he got a little less sleep than he should have, but the next thing he knows, his eyes are closed and he’s in a white room. 

There is nothing special about the room. The only dash of color was the room’s sole occupant (other than himself, clearly). Of course, logic doesn’t apply to dreams. Izuru feels like a spectator, an outsider. Like he’s looking in on something he isn’t exactly supposed to be seeing. 

The only thing he can remember about the other is their eyes. A startling color, but not a bold one. Olive green, with a faint lighter circle near the middle. 

“Who are you?” Izuru asks, in his same bored and emotionless tone he always has. 

The other’s green eyes blink once, twice. They seem to be looking directly through him, not at him. 

“I am you,” replies a voice that is distinctly his own, yet different in so many ways. It held warmth and emotion and weight and _pain._

Izuru wakes up. He blinks. Miss Yukizome is looking expectantly at him. His hair, he notices, has been moved. 

“Welcome back!” Miss Yukizome chirps with a smile, a smile that is hiding anger and confusion. “How was your nap, Izuru?” She cocks her head at him. He blinks.

Miss Yukizome backs off with a sigh. His hair falls back into its comfortable place. “Talkative as ever, I see.” She perks back up, returning to the podium in the front of the room. 

Izuru hears talking in the back of the room. Chuckles and muttering, mostly. 

“Man, didn’t expect to see the day Kamakura fell asleep in class.” Someone laughs, earning more responses. 

Miss Yukizome taps a ruler twice against the chalkboard, and class resumes. If anyone noticed Izuru seeming… occupied, the rest of the day, no one commented on it. 

{<~>}

Izuru usually isn’t the type to remember his dreams. He rarely ever has a dream in the first place, and they’re usually forgotten by the time he wakes up. Not these dreams. 

That night, Izuru laid in his bed. He wasn’t restless, per se, he just wasn’t tired. His eyes were open. When tears started streaming down the sides of his face, he supposed that maybe he should blink more often. 

Those dreams were on his mind for the rest of the day. It was irrational, because he had no reason to think about them. His curiosity - a bare, human part of him - reared its ugly head and roared, demanding information. 

His eyes were red. That was a fact. His eyes were not green. And as far as he knew, they had never been green. He wasn’t allowed to learn about who his body used to belong to. 

Izuru closes his eyes. He wishes, he hopes for a dreamless sleep. He doesn’t get it. 

He’s back in that room, that same white room. The person with the green eyes is back. 

He asks the same question. “Who are you?” He sounds more demanding this time, although it’s hard to tell with Izuru. You can never clearly tell what he’s thinking. 

“Hajime Hinata,” comes his voice again. There is no pain in it this time. This time, there’s that same warmth but there’s happiness and satisfaction. 

Izuru remembers something else of this dream, too. Short, spiky brown hair. It was a style he’d never wear - at least, this version of him. It seems familiar somehow. 

The same green eyes blink at him again, and he’s awake. 

{<~>}

The class isn’t silent by any means. It’s technically lunchtime, and they’re all still in the classroom, bar a few exceptions. 

Teruteru is down in the kitchens, who was followed closely by Ibuki and Akane. Nekomaru tagged along too. Ryota - or Imposter, Izuru calls them mentally - is tucked away in his dorm, working on his anime as usual. 

Mikan is in the nurse’s office with an unlucky Hiyoko. Mahiru went along too, to stop Mikan from having a breakdown at Hiyoko’s… unkind words. 

That leaves only a few people in the classroom. Izuru saw this as an ideal time to speak. He stands up from his desk. The action alone causes silence to fall over the room. He typically doesn’t move much unless he has to. 

Everyone is looking at him. Izuru’s eyes flit around the class, taking in everyone’s reaction. Might as well get it over with. 

“Does the name Hajime Hinata mean anything to one of you?” No one seems to react much, at first. It’s Kazuichi who breaks the silence. 

“Isn’t he the Reserve Course guy who went missing a little while ago?” But Izuru isn’t looking at him. He’s looking at Chiaki. 

The faraway look in her eyes was gone. Her handheld console was off and on the table. She was standing, hands grasped together in what is clearly disbelief. 

“You know Hajime?” Chiaki speaks quietly. Everyone else is watching in silence, waiting with bated breath to see how this interaction will go down. Suddenly, she’s moving toward Izuru. 

She’s gripping his tie fiercely, with a passion unexpected from Chiaki of all people. “Have you seen him? Do you know where he is?” She demands, and the look in her eye can only be described as _hope._

He didn’t want to go through the trouble of explaining the circumstances of his birth. Creation, rather. He knew that this body was not his, and his existence was made on borrowed time. He was okay with that. 

With a grip a little harder than he felt was necessary, he pulled Chiaki’s hand off his tie. “No.” He turned away and returned to his seat. “It’s irrelevant now.”

Chiaki deflated. He felt a little guilty, for the first time. He wasn’t used to feeling such things, these boring and predictable emotions like guilt and sadness and despair. 

She let her hand fall back down to her side. “Oh. Okay.” She moved back to her seat, almost immediately earning a comforting hand on her shoulder from Sonia, and an encouraging rub of the head from Gundham, strangely enough. 

  
  


Izuru takes note of her reaction. Whoever this Hajime Hinata was, Chiaki was close to him. 

{<~>}

Izuru almost finds himself praying that he doesn’t get another one of those dreams. Prayer means nothing in a godless land. He closes his eyes and is back in the white room. 

This time, it isn’t him who speaks first. It’s Hajime. He can see all of Hajime’s face now, and it looks just like his. Perhaps, that has something to do with these dreams. 

“Who are you?” Hajime asks. His tone is inquisitive and welcoming, warm curiosity seeking new knowledge. 

“Izuru Kamakura.” His own voice is the one replying now, in the same cold and calculated manner. 

He can see Hajime’s reaction now. A frown. He doesn’t say anything else before Izuru wakes up. 

A shift in the balance, or whatever kind of meager schedule these dreams had was something strange. That morning before class, Izuru sat in his bathroom, staring at himself. 

Izuru was never one to worry over his appearance. His long hair was something he was indifferent to. Not something he preferred but not an inconvenience, so why bother changing it? His face was something he’d never taken the time to thoroughly look at. 

Izuru started taking account of the things he’d never thought important before. A small mole on the left side of his nose. A little scar just above his lip. Acne marks under his eye. The barest hints of a stubble along his chin and neck. 

This was not his face. It was Hajime Hinata’s, and he was simply the one using it for the time being. The thought wasn’t a surprise. He knew he had been created in a lab. The scar around his head was physical proof. 

At least, now he knew who this body used to belong to. 

{<~>}

The day went on normally. Izuru saw Chiaki staring at him with longing and curiosity. Did she think he was Hajime in disguise? No, she didn’t. That was so illogical it couldn’t even be considered an option. 

He went through the day without thinking much about it. Chiaki kept up her staring. By the end of the day a few people had noticed, and began to tease her about it. But that wasn’t enough to make her stop. 

Izuru got used to the constant prickle at the back of his neck, the constant feeling of someone watching him and analyzing his every movement. 

It was like that at first in the lab. People watched Izuru. Scientists and doctors combined. They watched him and waited to see if their human pincushion turned out the way they wanted him to. 

After being deemed satisfactory, Izuru was allowed to join the 77th class of Hope’s Peak Academy. No one commented on how late he joined, or how different he seemed from the rest of them, or how his talent was so vague. 

Seriously? Ultimate Hope? Couldn’t they come up with something a little more precise? (Komaeda seemed to like it, at least.) 

Throughout the day, Izuru was reminded of his time in the lab. Although he had no reason to dislike Chiaki, he didn’t want to be reminded of that place. It was boring, for lack of a better word. 

When classes ended, he wasted no time in returning to his dorm. He fell asleep a little earlier than he did most nights, but perhaps it was a blessing in disguise. 

Izuru was back in the white room. Hajime was looking at him. He didn’t seem happy or welcoming like he had the other times. He looked almost disgusted, and scared, and every negative word you could possibly think of. 

Hajime speaks first again. “Who are you?” He asks, backing away from Izuru. The distance between them didn’t change. 

The words Izuru replies with leave him surprised. Izuru Kamakura, someone who possesses every known talent - Ultimate Neurologist, Ultimate Analyst, and Ultimate Psychologist, to name a few - is surprised by words that come out of his own mouth. 

“I don’t know,” he answers. It’s less blunt than how he normally speaks. Maybe it’s showing him just how affected he really was by those words. 

Izuru wakes up. He’s breathing heavily and shivering. If he didn’t know better, Izuru might have thought he was sick. A cold sweat ensures that his back sticks to his bedsheets. He sits up, mind reeling from the events of his dream. He remembers it perfectly. 

He sighs. He doesn’t have time to waste thinking about pointless things like that. 

{<~>}

Izuru still showed up to class that day. If he was a little later than usual, no one commented. No one could tell anything was off at first glance. 

He was…. blinking a lot. His eye was dry, and constantly producing tears to moisten itself. He wasn’t crying, and he had no reason to be. Izuru Kamukura didn’t cry. 

“Now, we need someone to come up and solve this problem!” Miss Yukizome’s voice draws him back into reality. It takes him a moment to realize she’s pointedly staring at him. 

Izuru stands, with robotic movements. He doesn’t waste time and makes no unnecessary motions. He doesn’t fidget, doesn’t take small steps. He’s striding confidently up to the chalkboard, plucking the chalk out of his teacher’s hand as he did so. 

That is, until Izuru feels a blinding pain - literally - in his eye. He’s dropped the chalk and is swaying on his feet. Both of his hands come up to press against his eye instinctually. 

His legs give out beneath him and he falls to his knees. He’s hunched over, hands still over his eye. He’s aware he looks pitiful at the moment. 

Someone curses. Was it him? Was it one of his classmates? The pain numbed all of his senses until pain was all there was. A pulsing sensation flooded his head, dulling his thoughts and making it impossible to do anything. 

Somewhere, dimly, he realizes there are hands on his arm, pulling his hands away from his eyes. His one good eye opens, the other still screwed up in pain. Red. Something is red and warm and hot and sticky and all over his hands. 

Blood. His blood. Coming from… “My eye,” he groans. The effort of speaking is almost enough to make him fall unconscious. How he stays upright is a mystery. 

There are hands on his face, and something bright. It moves around, and he can’t follow it. He’s in too much pain to think. There’s yelling, somewhere, and he’s being pulled to his feet. Almost immediately, he falls back over. Strong, comically huge hands catch him and hoist him onto someone’s back. There’s movement beneath him. 

Whoever is carrying him is running somewhere, and it sure seems to be important. Why? He didn’t have any plans. Come to think of it, who was carrying him? Why was he being carried? Hajime didn’t know, so he decided to just relax and fall asleep. 

{<~>}

He was dreaming again. Izuru was back in that familiar white room. This time, instead of looking in on the room like the previous times, he was the one in the room. 

There is no one else there. A significant feeling of loneliness floods over him, and it’s nothing like what he thought it would feel like. However, there’s something else there. Another feeling. It was deep and paralyzing, practically ripping the oxygen out of his lungs. He stood in place, while his mind was screaming at him. _Move. You’re in danger. Find the threat and get rid of it._

Fear, Izuru realized. Izuru felt fear for the first time. It was dark, and cold, and he hated it. He wanted it to go away. 

A voice speaks. It sounds like Hajime’s, but it’s clearly his at the same time. The two blend together, contrasting at its higher elements and meshing perfectly at its lower. 

_Who are you? Who am I?_

The words are not spoken so much as they appear in his mind. The voices are still significantly there, though. 

“We are the same,” Izuru answers. He can’t even be completely sure he’s the one speaking. The voice that comes out isn’t his, but it feels right all the same. “We are one person.”

He looks down at his hands. They are distorted and can never settle on one shape. He looks back up at the blank, white wall. “We are Hajime and Izuru.” More fear now, shooting down through his limbs. He wants to wake up, to end this dream. He wants _out._

With a gasp, Izuru sits straight up. There are people sitting in a ring around him, all of whom were clearly waiting for him to wake up. Someone rushes to his side and tries to ease him back down. There’s an ice pack on his forehead, which he’s only now realizing is pounding. 

His hands shake as he lets… whoever it was push him back onto the uncomfortable cot. He’s in a school’s nurse’s office, not a hospital. 

One of his eyes is still closed, because to be completely honest, Izuru is scared to open it. It was the one that had been bleeding earlier, after all. Could he still see out of that eye?

Did… did he even have an eye anymore?

Opening his eye proved that he did, in fact, still have it. Doing so wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be. The one who pushed him downward is gasping. Something is pushed into his hand. 

A shaky, “Kamukura-kun, your eye…” sends the room into a stiff silence. He holds the mirror up, hating how his arm trembled under its weight. He brings it up to his eyes. He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t shift his glance. 

The mirror slides out of his hand, and someone catches it before it hits his face and shatters. Izuru hoped he was hallucinating, simply delirious from pain. Because if he wasn’t, there was something big waiting for him that needed to be dealt with in the future. 

Because one of his eyes has turned a dim, olive green. The same green as Hajime Hinata’s eyes. 

**Author's Note:**

> haha angst machine go brr
> 
> bonus take a shot every time i say he blinks


End file.
